One of Us
by Zilley
Summary: Alternate title: Six Times Spock Indulged in an Illogical Human Pastime and One Time the Humans Returned the Favour. Spock spends some quality time with his human crewmates.
1. Scotty

NOTES: Seven linked ficlets which loosely combine into a 6+1 story.

Written in 2015 for a 7-days/7-ficlet challenge at Ad Astra, where the stories all had to be under 500 words each in length. Given that it was the first fic I had written in 10 years, as well as the constraints of the word count limit and the daily deadline for the challenge at the time of writing, I had initially wanted to give this some extra spit and polish before posting somewhere else. But it's been two years. I'm just going to cut this one loose and move on. I feel some warmth toward this for it being my first venture back into Trek writing after so long; I hope you enjoy reading it.

-/^\\-

 **I. Scotty**

Footsteps, even and unhurried, alerted Montgomery Scott to the approach of a visitor to his office on the Engineering deck, the precisely measured stride told him the identity without his having to lift his eyes from the technical manual he had been reading.

"Evening, Mr Spock," he said and looked up, cocking his head curiously at the First Officer. "Can I help ye, sir?"

Out of all the men, women, and Vulcans who called the _Enterprise_ home (some 430 souls), none had served together longer than Spock and Scott. They had a strange relationship, if it qualified as one.

They had, perhaps, the most in common. And the least.

Scott could see in Spock a mind which revelled in the same technological minutiae as did his, a pair of (pointed) ears willing to listen to and discuss Scott's latest theories regarding warp capabilities or transporter advancement, a man who understood every system on the _Enterprise_ the way he did.

But he didn't _feel_ the ship the way Scott did. Nor did he drink whisky - an unfortunate genetic flaw.

Scott suspected he knew why they called Vulcan a dry planet.

"Mr Scott." The soft, low voice brought Scott back to the man standing, hands clasped behind him, in front of his desk. "I have come to ask you for..." - an uncharacteristic hesitation - "some guidance on a matter in which I believe you have some expertise."

Scott noted the straight back, rigid shoulders. "Aye, sir?" he prompted.

Spock fixed his gaze on a spot just behind Scott's right shoulder. "I understand, Mr Scott, that you have within your means a method of producing... alcohol."

 _Ah_. So, that was the reason for the even-more-stony-than-usual face. Someone (if he discovered who, they'd be ensconced in waste maintenance for the next six weeks) had blabbed about Scott's improvised still and the word, as it always did on the _Enterprise_ , reached the Vulcan First Officer's far too observant ears. Spock was here to make him dismantle it.

"Sir," he began, but Spock put a hand up to immediately quell any comment from the engineer.

"You misunderstand, Mr Scott." Spock drew his gaze back down to Scott's face and his features softened just enough that only those who had observed him for a reasonable length of time would notice. "I am not here on a matter of ship's business and no reprimand is forthcoming."

"Sir?"

"As you are no doubt aware, it is Doctor McCoy's birthday next month - an occasion you humans seem to value," he added and Scott smiled at the typical Vulcan dismissive tone.

"And ye would like me to produce some of Scotty's _finest_ for the occasion, sir?" An unusual gesture coming from the Vulcan, Scott thought, but a damn fine one.

"Not exactly," Spock prevaricated. "I wish for you to help _me_ concoct an alcoholic beverage suitable to the good doctor's tastes."

"Aye, sir!" Scott smiled. "I think-"

Spock was gone.

 _Aye_. Or, as Spock would say, _fascinating_.


	2. Uhura

**II. Uhura**

The party was well under way by the time Kirk arrived, Spock reluctantly at his heels. McCoy saw them immediately and sauntered over, careful not to slosh the contents of his glass.

"Happy Birthday, Bones!" said Kirk, his eyes twinkling.

"Howdy, Jim." He eyed the wary Vulcan lurking behind Kirk's shoulder. "Nice of you to bring the gag gift with you."

"Now, now, Bones. Spock was nice enough to come to your party. The least you could do is be polite to him." He slapped his friend on the arm, causing McCoy's glass to tip slightly.

"Hey! Watch it! This is good stuff!"

Spock, his eye on something on the other side of the room, had heard enough. "Gentlemen, if you will excuse me."

As he departed, he heard a half-whispered, "Jim, you'll never believe who Scotty said is responsible for my birthday hooch..."

"Lieutenant?"

Uhura's head shot up so fast she nearly toppled over. _Spock was at a party?_

"Miss Uhura," the Vulcan amended, sensing that he had caught her somewhat off guard. "I understand that Ensign Cooper is unwell. Will you still be performing this evening?"

"Yes, Mr Spock. I'll still sing. It'll be _a cappella_ , though. Sally's been ordered to stay in bed for the next day or so." She started humming softly, gently warming up her vocal chords.

Spock turned to look around the room at the mingling guests. Kirk caught his eye and smiled encouragingly; Spock knew it pleased him to see his First Officer mixing with the human crew.

He came to a decision.

"Miss Uhura, would you permit me to accompany you while you perform?"

Uhura's eyes widened. "Did you bring your Vulcan harp with you, Mr Spock?"

"Indeed not, Miss Uhura," he replied, failing to mention that he had not brought the instrument in deference to McCoy's known dislike for its sound. He indicated the piano in the corner of the room. "If I may?"

"Why, Mr Spock, you are a man of hidden talents!" He dipped his head and she smiled. "Where on Earth - or Vulcan - did you learn to play piano?"

"My mother tutored piano students on Earth, before she married my father." His face crinkled in what might have been a wry smile. "She insisted on bringing the instrument with her, only to find that it did not adapt well to the Vulcan climate."

"What happened to it?"

"My father had it dismantled" - Uhura gasped - "and reconstructed using Vulcan materials. I believe my mother felt the tone had improved."

"That was thoughtful of your father."

"It was logical. My father well knew the consequences of my mother's temper."

Uhura laughed softly. "Shall we, sir?"

They withdrew to the piano and discussed the evening's repertoire. If Uhura was surprised by Spock's knowledge of Terran music, she never said so.

At one point in the performance, she saw McCoy wink at Spock and raise his glass.

She stole a look at Spock's face. _It was worth it_.


	3. McCoy

**III. McCoy**

Spock awoke slowly, his eyelids feeling illogically heavier than usual. He stubbornly forced them open anyway.

"Oh, there you are, Sleepyhead," a voice drawled.

 _McCoy_. Spock closed his eyes again.

"C'mon, Spock. I know you're awake. And I know you're dying to get out of Sickbay."

That got his attention.

"Doc... tor," - a glass of water appeared and he drank gratefully from the straw - "am I to understand you are allowing me to leave Sickbay" - he took a few sips more - "and to convalesce somewhere entirely more comfortable?"

McCoy appeared to give it some thought. "In a word, yes."

Spock came to the unsettling realisation that he was possibly hallucinating. He attempted to raise an eyebrow, but it was too heavy.

McCoy noted the attempt. "Now, I know what you're thinking, Spock. You're wondering why I'm prepared to let you leave that bed when we both know you're far from well." He eyed the display above Spock's biobed. "Fact is, I don't think Sickbay is the best place for you right now."

Spock's eyebrow made a successful ascent this time.

"Right, let's get you up," said McCoy, pulling back the bed sheets. Knowing that Spock would want to at least make the attempt to rise on his own, McCoy stood back a moment and allowed him to. His arms were ready for the Vulcan's inevitable stumble. "Nurse," he called over his shoulder.

Christine Chapel entered the ward pushing a wheelchair.

"Doctor, I-"

"Sorry, Spock. But if you can't get out of bed under your own steam, then there's no chance you'll make it more than two steps past the Sickbay door. Don't worry," he added quietly. "The corridors have been cleared between here and our destination."

"Worry is a human emotion," Spock said, sliding not-quite-gracefully into the chair, "of which I am not prone to experiencing."

McCoy chose not to respond with an acid remark in return. The Rigellian virus had hit Spock hard; the doctor could see no fun in an uneven match.

Spock was lucid enough, however, to realise that he was not being taken to his quarters. His questioning glance got a smirk from McCoy. When they arrived at the transporter room, Spock was almost unVulcanly alarmed.

"Doctor, I believe your logic has reached a new low," Spock said as he was helped onto the platform.

"Energise," said McCoy.

They materialised on Xurus III, the planet the _Enterprise_ had been dispatched to on a survey mission.

Spock, having missed the preliminary landing parties due to his illness, was immediately aware of the warmth. He raised his face to the nearly Vulcan-red sky.

McCoy smiled. "You've heard of Elsenberg particles?"

"Affirmative."

"Well, this planet is full of them. The dermal synthesis of the Elsenberg particles provides a good dose of natural healing, Mr Spock."

Spock almost sighed.

"Hey," said McCoy. "Yield to the logic!"

When Kirk beamed down later, he found his two friends _sunbathing_... and blissfully asleep.


	4. Chekov

So, I don't speak Russian at all. I relied on Google. If any of these words are wrong, let me know!

-/^\\-

 **IV. Chekov**

Pavel Chekov loved computers (they were, after all, invented in Russia). It was his proficiency with them that was, in part, responsible for Commander Spock suggesting that Chekov could be utilised as a relief science officer on the bridge, despite his not being on the science track.

Chekov had a particular fondness for developing code and had created a number of small programs within the _Enterprise_ 's computer systems. Many of these were beneficial, like the one he created for Sulu, allowing him to manipulate the temperature for each individual plant within a single growing chamber in the botany lab. Some programs he developed for his own use because, frankly, Beef Stroganoff was a ridiculously glaring omission in the food synthesisers. And, honestly, some programs were created for plain mischief (it was worth it for the expression on his roommate's face when he came out of their bathroom a glorious shade of blue after his morning shower).

Naturally, on a ship full of people with computer expertise, there were others who dabbled in programming and Chekov liked to trawl through the intra-network to discover what his shipmates were up to.

Alone in his quarters one evening after shift, something caught his eye as he scrolled through the titles in a file of programs.

сюрприз. _Surprise_.

He surmised it was the work of Lieutenant Osinova from Computer Science. There were a handful of Russian speakers on board the Enterprise, but only Nina had the technical knowhow to write computer programs, to Chekov's knowledge.

Chekov executed the program.

At first, he discovered a file full of Russian songs, no doubt some of Nina's favourites. As he listened to them, he became aware of a tiny word on the screen, almost hidden beneath a picture of the Russian flag.

следовать. _Follow_.

Chekov followed.

Within the first folder was a subfolder full of pictures of Russia, spectacular scenes of what Chekov knew to be the most beautiful place on Earth. He brought up a picture of Red Square. Another word hovered above the peak of St Basil's Cathedral.

идти. _Go_.

Chekov found another subfolder within the previous one. On the screen was a Russian doll. Chekov smiled. On the doll's mid-section was a word.

открывать. _Open_.

Nina was a genius! The whole program represented a Russian doll, each layer revealing another within. Chekov followed the link.

The screen erupted into a musical rendition of Tchaikovsky's _Cossack Dance_ along with a row of traditional Russian dancers leaping and kicking their way across the screen. _Oh, Nina_.

When the dancers had exited, stage right, a message appeared on screen.

 _Mr Chekov,_

 _I trust that the anniversary of your birth has been an agreeable day. You have my regards._

 _-Spock_

Within a minute, the program closed itself and he was back to the initial list of files. He scrolled through them, but the program was gone. As if it had never been.

 _Sneaky Vulcan_.

Chekov sighed. No one would ever believe him.


	5. Sulu

**V. Sulu**

The arboretum was a peaceful place after a day spent piloting a starship through uncharted space. Hikaru Sulu retreated to the arboretum often, both to tend to his own plants (if he hadn't been so intent on becoming a starship captain, he might have been a botanist) and to admire the many other botanical wonders on display. Some were plant specimens the crew of the _Enterprise_ had collected from distant worlds; others were projects, botanical experiments developed for medicinal purposes, for food production, to prevent a plant's extinction, or just to create something beautiful.

A lovely rose plant caught Sulu's eye one evening, its flowers varying shades of soft lavenders and subtle pinks - a pretty, feminine plant. He walked over and read the label on the plant's container.

 _Rosa vulcanis_.

 _Vulcanis?_ As he began to ponder the implications of the name, he heard someone approach.

"Good evening, Mr Sulu."

"Good evening, sir."

To Sulu's eye Spock looked relaxed, his back not so stiff, his hands clasped loosely behind him. Sulu felt bold enough to ask the question.

"Is this your plant, sir?" Spock's eyebrow rose. "I saw the species classification and made the... logical deduction."

The corners of Spock's lips curled almost imperceptibly. "Indeed." Sulu had the ridiculous notion that Spock was amused.

The Vulcan glanced around the room, empty but for themselves, and seemed to pause for thought before he spoke again, his voice soft and deep. "My mother has roses on Vulcan, plants she transported from her home on Earth. They need a great deal of care and nurturing to survive in Vulcan's harsh climate," - he reached out to touch the rose petals - "but they endure nonetheless."

Sulu wondered why he felt that Spock was speaking of more than roses.

Spock continued, "I have spent the last two-point-six months developing this plant, with a goal to producing a species capable of thriving naturally on Vulcan, without the necessity for as much intervention as is required for the roses in my mother's garden. I have had some success; the conditions within this growing chamber are Vulcan-norm - and the plant thrives."

Sulu noted Spock's use of the word 'some' and the tiny knot forming in the Vulcan's brow.

"But not total success, sir?"

"No." The muscles in Spock's jaw visibly tensed. "I had to introduce elements of a Vulcan species." His voice dropped even lower. "I had hoped to avoid that."

In a flash of insight, Sulu chose his next words carefully. "Crossbreeding typically produces better plants - hardier and more resilient than either parent species. The best of both worlds." He side-eyed the Vulcan, seeing the hooded expression. "I think your mother would be pleased to have something that combines the best of Earth and Vulcan."

"Perhaps."

Sulu changed tack. "Have you thought of a name? Most roses have a common name, not just a botanical one."

"I have," said Spock, heading for the door.

It hung in the air between them. _Amanda_.


	6. Kirk

**VI. Kirk**

The corridors of Deep Space Station F-9 were thrumming with activity; members of dozens of alien races talked, clicked, trilled, and gurgled to their companions as they perused the stores, bars and eateries along the way. The _Enterprise_ crew mingled with the crowd, enjoying their first shore leave in months.

Spock, who found shore leave illogical and rarely indulged, had (somewhat reluctantly) persuaded Captain Kirk to join him for a meal at a restaurant on the station. Kirk had suffered greatly in recent times and Spock wished to improve his friend's mood. Believing himself to be behaving quite illogically already, Spock threw caution to the wind and also invited McCoy.

Spock had done his research and discovered 'Luigi's', an Italian-style restaurant of some apparent repute, somewhere he'd heard Kirk mention.

They entered the restaurant and were seated at a booth near the kitchen.

"This is great, Spock," Kirk said, and Spock could already see the months of tension easing from the human's muscles. "I've always wanted to come here and I'm glad I'm here with the two of you."

Spock gracefully dipped his head.

McCoy was watching the kitchen. A tall Andorian male in an apron was flipping dough. "If that's Luigi, I'm an Octellian river turtle."

Kirk laughed. Spock lifted an eyebrow.

A waitress came to take their order. At a loss, Spock deferred to Kirk to make a choice on his behalf.

Fifteen minutes later, Spock was looking dubiously at a steaming hot vegetarian pizza. Taking his cue from his two companions as to how one actually consumed pizza, he lifted a slice to his lips. His taste buds lurched at the unfamiliar sensation. He swallowed quickly.

He eyed Kirk and McCoy, who were eating as though they hadn't for days, expressions of approval on their faces.

He tried another bite, believing his initial reaction to be an instinctual rejection of the unknown. He felt his eyes begin to water and fought to suppress it. He was glad Kirk and McCoy were too engrossed in their meals to notice.

 _I am in control_.

Just barely. Through sheer strength of will, he ate an entire piece. And then, because he was stubborn, he ate another. His control would not hold for a third. He reached for his glass of Altair water and tried not to unVulcanly gulp it down.

"Not hungry, Spock?" inquired McCoy, wiping sauce from his face.

"No, Doctor." He tried not to grimace. "I have had quite enough."

"More for me, then," said Kirk, biting into his fifth - _sixth?_ \- piece.

"You, Jim," McCoy said, pointedly, "are going on a diet after this leave."

"Bones!"

Kirk was not truly aggrieved, Spock knew, and it pleased him to see his captain - and McCoy too, for the doctor had his own hardships - free from his worries and burdens. Perhaps a logical endeavour, after all.

But if anyone invited him to eat Italian food again, he would refuse. It was illogical, _emotional_ , but he _hated_ it.


	7. Spock

**VII. Spock**

There were advantages and disadvantages in being the only Vulcan in an otherwise all-human crew. Spock's Vulcanity was never in question amongst humans as it had been on Vulcan, but he often had to make concessions and compromises in order to survive in a human-centric environment.

He tolerated the cool temperature and the cacophony of human chatter; he shielded himself from the ceaseless emotions and reminded himself to heed Surak's tenet of tolerance.

His quarters served as a Vulcan outpost of sorts, a simulation of home: higher temperature, higher gravity, lower humidity… a haven where Spock's comfort took precedence. He seldom had visitors, except for the captain.

He was therefore surprised when Chekov and Scott came to his door one evening. Chekov was carrying a steaming mug.

"Sir, the lad" - Scott nodded at Chekov - "and I have created something with the food synthesisers we'd like ye to see."

Chekov handed the mug to Spock. The aroma was unmistakable.

"This is _t'cheva_ tea."

"Aye," said Scott, bouncing on his toes. "Wait 'til ye try it!"

"Go on, Mr Spock," said Chekov, making a drinking motion.

Spock experimentally took a sip. The beverage was hot and fragrant, a sufficiently accurate replication of flavour too. Spock said so.

"It was Mr Scott's-"

"Chekov thought-"

"Gentlemen," Spock cut over them both, "thank you."

As they went to leave, the door opened and McCoy and Sulu appeared, McCoy's finger hovering over the door buzzer.

Spock raised an eyebrow and waved his second set of visitors inside.

Sulu held a tray of what Spock could see were Vulcan herb plants.

"Mr Spock," said Sulu, "Doctor McCoy and I have been working on a project in the arboretum and, well-"

"What Sulu's trying to say," said McCoy, "is that he worked a little botanical magic, I worked a little biological magic, and the result is these herbs, full of Vulcan goodness. Include them in your diet and I won't have to see you in my sickbay so often."

Spock almost smiled.

His buzzer rang again. _Extraordinary._

"Spock," said Kirk, ushering Uhura ahead of him, "we have something for you."

"Something of Vulcan origin, I assume?"

"Well, yes," said Uhura, handing Spock a box.

He opened it and found a selection of Vulcan spices; the procurement of such, given their current location, would have been difficult. "How-"

Kirk grinned. "Uhura has connections, I have my charm."

"Captain, I find it difficult to believe that three sets of visitors bearing gifts is a coincidence." His eyes narrowed. "The six of you are colluding," he challenged.

Kirk smiled. "You're tolerant of our human customs and the ways we choose to celebrate them, but we do nothing to celebrate yours. I know your culture doesn't much go for celebrations, but the library computer divulged one. I believe it involves a tea ceremony?"

"Indeed. To honour Surak." He looked around at these humans who… cared. "Gentlemen, Miss Uhura, I would be honoured if you would join me."


End file.
